


Every Moment Marked

by anr



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-29
Updated: 2009-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-18 10:19:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/559924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anr/pseuds/anr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She readies herself for a fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Moment Marked

**Author's Note:**

> Soundtrack: "Do What You Have To Do" (Sarah McLachlan)
> 
> Request: fire

  


* * *

  


_a glowing ember_   
_burning hot_   
_burning slow_

  


* * *

  


There's a heat wave.

  


* * *

  


The precinct is an oven, each window a refraction of searing light. Fin has taken to wearing sunglasses inside and she's considering following suit.

"Anything?"

She closes the file with a grimace. "Nothing."

"Think your partner's having any luck?"

"Stuck in a car with _your_ partner?" She raises an eyebrow. "We'll be lucky if this bastard is the only one behind bars tonight."

Fin snorts.

  


* * *

  


She's at the vending machine when he stalks in, jacket discarded and shirt sleeves rolled up. "Next person to tell me it's hot," he starts darkly, and she knows how the rest of that sentence goes so she slaps a can of soda into his hand as he moves to pass her.

"No air-conditioning?" she asks sympathetically.

"Air-conditioning was fine," says Munch, walking in. "The sprint down by the docks, on the other hand..."

She winces.

  


* * *

  


The sun sets; the temperature doesn't. They are no closer to finding a lead and she can't concentrate, can't think anything beyond how goddamn uncomfortable she is. Elliot's opposite her, supposedly going through wrap sheets from the last five years, but he hasn't turned a page in what seems like forever and she can feel him staring at her.

"What?" she snaps eventually.

He nods at the soda can she's holding to the back of her neck, condensation dripping down her spine. "You gonna drink that?"

"What's it to you?"

His expression tightens, the way it always does right before he starts to lets go, and she readies herself for a fight.

"Olivia! Elliot!" Cragen's shout is an unwelcome distraction. "Report of a suspicious person matching our perp's description down at the docks -- go check it out."

_We're busy_. She swallows the words down at the last possible moment, rising up out of her chair. "On it."

By the time she's cleared the bullpen, he's at her side, a careful foot of space between them.

She considers pushing against him anyway.

  


* * *

  


The air at the docks is warm and still, a thick weight that settles over them as soon as they exit the car.

"So much for it being cooler down by the water," she mutters, tugging at her shirt.

El shrugs. "Least there's no sun this time."

She'd forgotten he's already been here once today. "I think my brain's melting."

He looks around. "You and me both -- which warehouse again?"

She checks. "That one," she says, pointing.

He nods, handing her a flashlight. "Let's go."

  


* * *

  


Hot. Seven women flashed; three inappropriately touched (he's escalating). Heated. Repeat offender (pervert). Sweltering.

Ahead of her, El stops and pans his flashlight around the warehouse in a slow arc. "You see him?"

She stares as a bead of sweat slides down his throat and disappears into his collar. She swallows hard. "No."

Fevered.

  


* * *

  


Back in the car, she turns on the air-con full blast and tilts the vent directly at her face.

It doesn't help.

  


* * *

  


El switches the radio on for the drive back and the weatherman assures them (and several million other listeners) that, after four days, a change is _definitely_ on its way. He says it so many times that, when they finally do arrive at the precinct, she's had enough. She's tired and hot and frustrated, the late hour and this jerk's promises nothing but added aggravations.

Cragen's smiling when they walk in. "We got him," he says, "beat cop caught him in the act twenty minutes ago."

_Fuck_ , she thinks. _FuckfuckFUCK_.

Elliot all but throws his keys down onto his desk. "Where?"

"West 48th." Cragen grabs his jacket and slings it over his arm, pulling his office door shut behind him. "Go home, you two. Cool down. The paperwork can wait until tomorrow."

He walks away and she waits until she can hear the ding of the elevator before moving.

El kicks his chair. "Two blocks? Are they fucking shitting me?"

Slowly, _carefully_ , she plants both palms on her desk and leans forward. "Hey, El?"

He looks at her, his hands clenched into tight fists by his sides.

She licks her lips and almost reconsiders. Doesn't. "Sure is hot tonight."

  


* * *

  


They go up to the roof, and it's like breathing in fire, each gust of wind a pressing wave of heat. El lets the door slam shut behind them, following her around to where the security cameras don't work, no matter how many times maintenance tries to fix them.

" _Really_ hot tonight," she says unnecessarily, backing up against sun-warmed bricks, and he glares as he closes in on her.

"Shut up, Benson."

_Make me_. Reaching out, she places her hands on his hips and tugs, shifting his stance until he's blocking her from the wind and she can breathe just a little bit easier. He plants one hand on the bricks beside her head and leans in, his mouth dangerously close to hers. She's not intimidated.

"You sure?"

Her smile is twisted; she drags her fingers along his belt. "Shut up, _Stabler_."

"Whatever," he mutters, sinking to his knees in front of her. Without preamble, he unzips her pants and peels them down her legs, her hand resting on his shoulder for balance as he lifts first her left leg, then her right. She's no cooler without the fabric on her and she sighs, tilting her head back against the bricks and closing her eyes.

His hands drag slowly up her legs and around her thighs, tugging her underwear to the side as she hooks one leg over his shoulder. His breath is hot on her flesh but not unwelcome; she shudders.

He doesn't move.

"El?" Opening her eyes, she looks down at him, and fuck if that wasn't exactly what he was waiting for. His gaze locked on hers, he leans in and kisses her wetly, licking into her flesh.

_Fuck_.

It's tempting to close her eyes again, to blindly arch against his mouth and let everything simply slide away, but she knows the moment she does that he'll stop -- _fucking possessive bastard_ \-- so she presses her fingertips against the bricks and drums her heel against his back, eyes open and watching him watch her as he licks, and sucks, and rubs the flat of his tongue against her clit, working her over just the way she likes it.

She comes hard, almost bucking him off of her until his left hand reaches up to press against her abdomen, pinning her against the wall.

His wedding ring burns on her stomach.

She closes her eyes.

  


* * *

  


He slides off his pants while she's coming down, her lungs straining a little in the heated air. Over his shoulder, the horizon crackles with what appears to be lightning; she looks away.

His dick is hot and hard in her hands, and it's tempting to go down on him, to have him slide in and out of her mouth until her jaw aches from the repetition, but she's still not comfortable doing that while he's standing above her and she's not feeling bitchy enough to make him lie down on the cement. _Next time_ , she thinks, and hitches a leg up around his hip instead.

He presses up into her.

"Fuck," he swears, his mouth open on her neck, and she nods, flexing her fingers on his shoulders.

The angle's bad, neither of them willing to keep their bodies in too much contact, but they work it anyway, his dick slowly easing in and out, in and out. The rhythm spins her more than anything else.

Freeing one of his hands from her hips, he slips it between them, searching out her clit, and she shakes her head, reaching down and pulling him away. She already knows she's not going to come again. Her fingers tangle with his, his ring rubbing the calluses at the top of her palm, and she holds their arms against the bricks above her head. He swears again.

When he comes, her teeth are on his neck and his fingers are almost cutting off the circulation in her hand. Her pulse is throbbing loudly in her ears and it sounds suspiciously like thunder.

She holds on tight.

  


* * *

  


They dress and head downstairs to their desks and it's quiet in the bullpen, the graveyard shift well in hand.

El sits down and flicks at his mouse to deactivate his screensaver.

"You're not heading home?" she asks.

He shakes his head and shifts his keyboard. "Too hot." He types in his password and looks up at her. "You?"

Pulling out her chair, she takes a seat, reaching for the case file. "Too hot," she agrees.

  


* * *

  


Outside, it begins to storm.

  


* * *

The End

**Author's Note:**

> ORIGINAL URL: <http://anr.livejournal.com/329207.html>


End file.
